One For the Road
by SFGrl
Summary: What is Chandler Bing's Job?
1. Prologue: Chandler Bing's Job

Title: One For the Road  
  
Rating: R, for violence, language & adult themes  
  
Disclaimer: I own no "Friends" original characters  
  
Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance  
  
©2002 (SFGrl)  
  
~One For the Road~  
  
  
  
Prologue: Chandler Bing's Job  
  
  
  
"What is Chandler Bing's job?"  
  
Chandler felt his pulse increase, as Ross looked expectantly at Monica and Rachel.  
  
"Oooh, I know this one..."  
  
But they didn't. No one really knew what he did for a living, and that was fine by him.  
  
"It has something to do with numbers.."  
  
Yeah, right, numbers. Chandler almost laughed. He momentarily forgot himself, and a small smirk played upon his face. It quickly disappeared, when he realized that he was supposed to be vying for the apartment.  
  
"He's a transponster!!"  
  
"That's not even a word!!"  
  
God, if they only knew.  
  
~****~  
  
Jacque Louie Emerie walked out of the French Embassy, and toward his waiting car. As the sleek black Lincoln Town car made it's way out of the iron gates, a bullet whizzed through the air, penetrated the door like a hot knife through butter, and hit Jacque square in the chest.  
  
The gunman was halfway across town, before anyone could even react.  
  
"Chandler, where have you been?" Joey asked, as Chandler walked into the apartment.  
  
"I was working," Chandler replied calmly, as he loosened his tie and took off his jacket, "Why?"  
  
"We were supposed to meet the others for dinner, and Kathy has called twice. She said you weren't at your office, and---"  
  
"Joey, chill out, okay? Have you been drinking?" Chandler smiled.  
  
"Sorry, I guess I'm just edgy. I really want this role, ya know?"  
  
"When are they supposed to call?"  
  
"Tomorrow morning."  
  
"I'm sure it'll be fine," Chandler smiled reassuringly at his friend, the made his way into his bedroom to change.  
  
Once inside his room, he sighed heavily, and closed his eyes. He pulled open his laptop, the one that his friend's thought he used for video games, and opened his message box. He looked at his closed bedroom door, then back down at the screen. He pulled on his glasses, and typed:  
  
The water is clean. ~Nicholas  
  
AN: Ch one coming soon. 


	2. Nicholas Robert Caulfield

~One For the Road~  
  
Rated R  
  
Chapter One: Nicholas Robert Caulfield  
  
It went against everything he was ever taught as a child. But when he first started The Job, he found ways to justify his actions. These people were greedy, manipulative, cunning, murderers, thieves, and con artists. He was doing the world a favour. He was the righteous one.  
  
It didn't change the fact that he was, essentially, a murderer.  
  
He had killed, without blinking an eye. He was numb to it now.  
  
He had to be.  
  
His friends knew him as Chandler Bing, a slightly dorky, sardonic office drone, whose biggest problem was that he couldn't commit.  
  
Sometimes he would become absorbed in that world. And lately, he was beginning to wish that he really were Chandler Bing.  
  
The worst part was that he felt that by staying in one place, he was putting Chandler's friends---his friends, at risk. He had enemies, that much he knew, but his greatest advantage at this point was that none of them knew what he looked like---and they were after Nicholas, not Chandler.  
  
He blinked, and focused, shaking his head slowly. If he let his mind wander, he'd end up dead. He peered through the sight of his rifle, and saw that the gates of the Embassy were opening slowly. He settled onto the floor of the hotel, and aimed the rifle. In one swift motion, he pulled the trigger, slid down against the adjacent wall, disassembled and encased his weapon, and slipped out of the hotel room and onto the street.  
  
It wasn't until he was inside his office, that he allowed himself to breathe. He quickly changed, and slipped on Chandler's suit and tie. He stowed his weapon, checked his messages, and made his way to the other side of town, and to his other life.  
  
The office was a cover. As Nicholas, he only visited the office after hours, and always slipped in through the back door. Most of the people he worked with were clueless to the fact that he was a hit man. Two of his friends had even worked at his office for a short while. He had perfected the art of Chandler's life so well, that no one ever questioned it. As far as they knew, he had the world's most boring job.  
  
He stepped off of the train, and out of the train station. Checking his watch, he wandered down the street, and into Chandler's apartment building.  
  
Sometimes, he became so absorbed in his alter ego, he forgot who he was. It was about that time that he'd get a call, and he's get pulled back into the life he'd known for so long. He sighed as he opened his apartment door, content with the knowledge that, at least for tonight, he was Chandler Bing.  
  
"Chandler, where have you been?"  
  
~****~  
  
He aimed his rifle into the night, and placed his finger on the trigger. He waited for the target to come into full view. Suddenly, a shot whizzed through the air, hitting the tree that stood above Nicholas's head.  
  
"Shit," he mumbled, and rolled away from his spot on the ground. He quickly disassembled, and pulled out his handgun, before slipping into the woods.  
  
He could feel the presence of the predator, but had yet to see a thing. He moved behind a tree, and cocked his handgun. He turned, just in time to feel the heat of a bullet whiz by his head. He pointed and fired. For a moment, there was silence, and Nicholas searched the darkness, looking for a sign that it was safe. He heard a rustling, and aimed his gun. A shadow moved, and he fired again. The shadow flinched, then collapsed. He turned and ran, not stopping until he reached his office.  
  
He picked up his phone and dialed.  
  
"It's me. There's been a breach. No, the job was intruded on. Yes. I'm laying low for a few days, I'll be in contact shortly."  
  
Nicholas hung up the phone, and sighed. He quickly changed, and made his way back into Chandler's life.  
  
*  
  
"Hey, man," Ross said, as Chandler walked into the apartment.  
  
"Hey," Chandler replied, and sunk into his recliner. He was exhausted! "Where's Joey?"  
  
"On a date, I think. You want a beer?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Hey guys," the three girls walked into Chandler and Joey's apartment.  
  
"Hey."  
  
"You wanna go see a movie or something?" Phoebe asked.  
  
"Yeah, sure," Ross shrugged.  
  
"Uh, I think I'm gonna go to sleep," Chandler sighed, as he pivoted his chair toward the group.  
  
"Aw, c'mon Chandler!" Monica smiled. Her smile quickly faded. "Chandler! You're bleeding!"  
  
Chandler's eyes widened, and his hand went immediately to his burning temple.  
  
"What happened?" Phoebe asked, as the group peered at him.  
  
"Oh, uh, some guy on the train scraped me with his briefcase," Chandler laughed.  
  
"Let me see," Monica said, as she leaned over and touched his face.  
  
Chandler quickly flinched, and pulled away. He pushed past Monica, and stood up nervously.  
  
"It's fine, Mon, don't worry about it," he smiled.  
  
"But---"  
  
"I'm fine, really," Chandler repeated, and walked into the bathroom.  
  
"Dammit," he muttered, as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. He was getting careless. The incident earlier that night shook him up, and it shouldn't have. He sighed, and cleaned and dressed his wound, cursing his lax behavior the entire time.  
  
~****~  
  
"How are you feeling?" Monica asked the next day, as Chandler walked into the apartment.  
  
"Fine. Listen, Mon, I'm uh, sorry about yesterday. I was tired, and I---"  
  
"It's okay, Chandler. I promise not to take it personally," Monica laughed, and sunk into the sofa next to Chandler. She gingerly touched his temple.  
  
"Does it hurt?"  
  
"Not really," Chandler smiled.  
  
"Hungry?"  
  
"Eh," Chandler shrugged. Monica stood up and kissed his injured temple, before heading into the kitchen.  
  
Chandler followed Monica with his eyes. She kissed him, and his heart jumped. This wasn't happening, he couldn't fall for her. Her life would be placed in jeopardy. That was why he'd broken it off with Kathy. He sighed, and decided that after all that had happened, it was time for him to relocate. He looked at Monica again, and sighed.  
  
How was he going to walk away? 


	3. London Calling

~One For the Road~  
  
Rated R  
  
Chapter Two: London Calling  
  
"What do you mean, you're moving?" Monica almost looked angry, and the rest of his friends looked shocked.  
  
"Job transfer," Chandler shrugged. It had been a week since The Incident, and he was getting antsy. The longer he stayed here, the more danger he put his friends in.  
  
"You could have said NO," Monica hissed. Inside, her heart was breaking. Chandler was her best friend---the one she went to when everything in her life was going sour! He couldn't leave her like this, he just couldn't!  
  
"I'm sorry, Mon, I can't," Chandler looked hurt.  
  
"I know," Monica sighed.  
  
"When do you leave," Joey asked.  
  
"Sunday."  
  
~****~  
  
Nicholas sat alone in his London flat a week later, when his phone rang. It was the first of two calls that would change everything.  
  
"Yeah," Nicholas said flatly.  
  
"Nicholas, it's me. We need to talk."  
  
"Alright. I'll meet you at our usual place in an hour."  
  
Nicholas hung up the phone, and sighed. His other phone rang, and Nicholas jumped, startled.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Chandler?"  
  
"Uh, Ross! Hey!"  
  
"How, uh, how are you, man?"  
  
"Oh, you know, just trying to get used to the British," Chandler laughed.  
  
"Well, uh, I have some news!"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I'm getting married!"  
  
"Wow! Congratulations, Ross!"  
  
"Wait, there's more! We're getting married in London!"  
  
"Wow! Uh, that's great! When, uh, when is the wedding?"  
  
"In a month! London Baybee!" Ross laughed.  
  
"Well, you'll have to let me know all the details..listen, I have to go, but uh, tell everyone hi, okay?"  
  
"Will do! Bye!"  
  
"Bye," Chandler hung up the phone, and sighed. Could this BE any worse?  
  
~**~  
  
"What's going on?" Chandler sat down at a dark table inside a dark, nondescript pub in downtown London.  
  
"We found out some information that may connect to the attempt on your life," the gray-haired British man said softly.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Nicholas, it's about what happened in Yemen."  
  
"Yemen?" Nicholas went white.  
  
"You do remember that mission, right?"  
  
Nicholas sat back in the seat, deflated. How could he forget what happened in Yemen? It haunted his dreams; it made him question himself, and his abilities.  
  
"Nicholas, we have reason to believe that Yuri is behind this."  
  
"But he was detained by Scotland Yard, a year ago!"  
  
"No, he wasn't. They had the wrong man."  
  
Nicholas shook his head. "What are we going to do?"  
  
"We have no reason to believe that Yuri has detected your presence in London. But that does not mean he isn't looking. You must lay low until we can find out more. Any word from New York?"  
  
"I'll call Penelope today," Nicholas mumbled.  
  
"We'll do what we can, Nicholas. But the Network's resources are limited, you know that."  
  
"I know."  
  
"I'll call you," the man said, as he stood up and left the pub.  
  
Nicholas put his head in his hands, and wondered just how he was going to juggle all of this.  
  
~**~  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"It's Nicholas."  
  
"What's wrong?" "Penelope, I need you to send me everything you have on the incident in Yemen."  
  
"Yemen? Nick, I thought you put all of that behind you?"  
  
"It's not me..Anna's father is after me."  
  
"I thought he was---"  
  
"He's not. Get me the information as fast as you can, okay? And see if you can track whether or not Yuri is still in New York."  
  
"Okay. Take care of yourself, Nicky, okay?"  
  
"I will."  
  
Nicholas hung up the phone and sighed. He needed to lay low, but he also needed to make sure that his friends were safe---how was he going to do both at once?  
  
~*~  
  
AN: Okay, the chapters are short-but they are all kind of setting stuff up. Let me know if anything is confusing-and review! Thx!!  
  
~A~ 


	4. A Life Less Ordinary

AN: While I am using much of the series' timeline, Phoebe is not pregnant, and she and Rachel are going to be in London.

**~One For The Road~**

Chapter Three: _A Life Less Ordinary_

The sight was centered on its target.  There was not a doubt in his mind that he had his man.  He licked his dry lips, and wrapped his finger around the trigger.  He pulled back on the trigger.

Crack 

_Whoosh_

_Thump_

He peered through the site, wanting to confirm the kill.  It was then that he knew that something was wrong.

Had he blinked?

Had he jerked back the gun?

What had he done?

He felt his throat close up, and he struggled to erase his presence.  He touched his face, and as he pulled his hand away, he saw that his fingers were covered in blood.

_Blood_.  Suddenly, it seemed to be everywhere, drowning him, consuming him, eating him alive.  He tried to scream, but no sound emerged.  

Chandler woke up screaming, his body dripping with anxious sweat.  The Nightmare had haunted him for years, and it never changed.  He struggled to get the image of the young girl's limp body, her blood soaked hair, out of his head.  He had killed an innocent.  And as his breathing slowed, he realized that the nightly torture he went through, the agonizing dreams that would plague him eternally, were well deserved.

He crawled out of bed, and made his way into the bathroom, where he heaved, and threw up, twice, into the toilet—it was a side affect of the horrid dreams, and another punishment he was willing to accept.  He looked at himself in the mirror, and grimaced at the sight before him.  He sometimes did not recognize the man that was reflected—and it had nothing to do with his extensive plastic surgery.  He sighed, and placed his hand onto the mirror.

"Chandler Bing—You are a vile human being," he whispered, before clicking off the light, and crawling back into his bed, and into a restless sleep.

**~****~**

"Chandler!" Ross waved enthusiastically, and walked toward his friend.

"Hey, man," Chandler smiled, and hugged Ross quickly, before moving on to his other friends: Rachel, Phoebe, Joey and Monica.  His hug with Monica lingered, though he tried not to make that noticeable.  There was just something about her, and even though he knew that he could never have her, it seemed he just could not resist her.

"How was the flight?"

"Ugh," Phoebe complained, "Horrible.  They showed the **worst** movies!"

"It was okay," Monica shrugged.

"Yeah, you slept through most of it," Rachel pointed out.

"Well, let's get to the hotel," Chandler smiled, trying to sound casual.  The less time he spent in large public places, the better.

The group checked into the hotel, then washed up, and headed out to dinner.

"So, Ross, the wedding is next Saturday?"

"Yup!" Ross grinned, and Chandler noticed Rachel roll her eyes.

"It sounds like you are excited!" Chandler grinned, while keeping Rachel in the corner of his eye.

"Yeah, it's gonna be great.  I am meeting up with Emily later to see the place where she wants to get married.  Her parents booked it for us."

Chandler nodded blankly, all the while wondering just what had been going on after his move to London.

The Ross and Rachel saga had been long and dramatic, and it didn't really surprise Chandler that Rachel was less-than-thrilled to be attending Ross' wedding.  As the group left the Soho restaurant, Chandler fell into step with Rachel, intentionally trying to hang back a bit.

"So, Rach, you seem a little down.  You okay?"

"Yeah," Rachel sighed, less than convincingly.

"Hmm, you are gonna have to lie better than that," Chandler smiled.

"Well, would you be happy if it were Monica getting married?" Rachel arched her eyebrow.

Chandler was completely taken aback by Rachel's comment.  She knew?  Did they all know?  Were his feelings for Monica really that obvious?  He swallowed hard, and did his best to cover his feelings with a joke.

"If Monica were marrying Ross I think most people would have a problem with it," he laughed.

"That's not what I meant," Rachel smiled slyly.

Chandler's cell phone rang, and Chandler was sure he'd never heard a sweeter sound.  He smiled, his relief evident.  Rachel rolled his eyes and caught up to Phoebe and Joey, as Chandler answered his phone.

"Hello?"

"Nicholas," Penelope said quietly, and with one word, Nicholas was sucked back into reality.  He had allowed himself to become immersed in Chandler's life again, even if it was just for an evening.  He sighed, and slowed his pace, ensuring that his friends were slightly out of earshot.

"What is it, Penny?" 

"Yuri has been making moves.  We think he's heading your way."

Nicholas' heart stopped.  This was the worst-case scenario he had been trying to avoid.

"Nicky?"

"Yeah, I heard you."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I'm not sure yet."

"Then I'm coming out there.  You need all the help you can get."

"You can't.  My friends are here.  Your cover will be blown."

"Yours will too, when people start shooting at your head," Penelope replied.

"Not funny, Penny."

"Look, I don't need to blow my cover.  I'll just say I came out for the wedding."

"Why the hell would **you** come out for Ross' wedding?  I mean, they will ask," Nicholas whispered.

"Make something up," Penelope said, and hung up.

"Great," Nicholas muttered, and jogged toward his friends.

"Who was on the phone?" Rachel asked.

"Oh, uh, no one," Chandler smiled, and avoided Rachel's eyes.

How was he going to explain this?

AN: I know, I know.  Just review, and you'll see.

©2002


	5. Devil in Disguise

**~One For The Road~**

Chapter Four: _Devil In Disguise_

"He's drunk, okay?  There is _no way _you look old enough to be Ross' mother!" Chandler said, trying to ease the pain that the drunken stranger had caused his friend.  They were seated at a small table, not far from Monica's parents.  The week had gone by quickly, and Chandler had spent the entire week coming up with reasons why he didn't want to see London with them.  He'd even gone so far as to pick a fight with Joey, just to get out of sightseeing.  When he wasn't trying to avoid public places, he was busy keeping Penelope away from the group.  So far, he'd been successful, but he knew that if Yuri or any of his thugs showed up, everything would change.

"Whatever," Monica sniffed.

"Mon, look at me," Chandler squared Monica's shoulders, and looked into her eyes, "You are beautiful, wonderful and sexy, and you have _nothing _to worry about!"

Monica said nothing; she simply sniffled loudly.

"C'mon," Chandler sighed, "let's get the hell out of here, huh?"

Monica nodded, and the two left the rehearsal dinner unnoticed.

"I'm lonely, Chandler.  I hate that I can't seem to find the right guy," tears were flowing freely down Monica's face, and it took all of Chandler's will power not to take her in his arms and swear to love her forever.

"You are so great, Mon.  You'll find someone—"

"You keep saying that!  But who knows!  Maybe I'm just un-loveable!" Monica sobbed hysterically.

"Monica, stop it!  You are, like, my dream girl, okay?  I mean, if these other guys can't see what I see, then they aren't good enough to love you!" The words came out before he could stop them.  That the hell was he doing?

Monica just stared at Chandler, her jaw slightly dropped, and her eyes still shining from her unshed tears.

"Wha-what?"

Chandler bit his lip and stared at the floor, his cheeks flushing all kinds of red.  He backed away from Monica, and found himself leaning up against the hotel room door.

"Chandler," Monica whispered, as she slowly approached, "Am I really your dream girl?" A small, incredulous smile played on her lips.

Chandler swallowed hard, and closed his eyes.  _Tell her no! Don't be a fool!  You aren't even Chandler Bing!_  He looked up into her eyes, and saw that they were filled with a hopefulness that had been missing for a very long time. If he told her no, she would sink back into the depression that had gripped her earlier in the evening.

_But if you say yes, you would be risking everything._

His mouth was dry, and his head was spinning.  He dropped his head, and stared at his shoes.  He felt her approach, and could smell her perfume.  He was in trouble, and he knew it.

"I meant it," he whispered, almost inaudibly.

Before he knew what was happening, Monica was kissing him.  He willed himself to pull away, but his body refused to listen.  She had him pinned to the door, and he was putting up very little resistance.  She pressed her body into his, and his arms, as though on pure instinct, wrapped around her.  There was no going back.  His body had staged a coup d'etat over his mind.  And for the next twelve hours, Nicholas Caulfield ceased to exist.

~*~

There was a faint, seemingly distant ringing.  It took him a moment to realize that it was his cell phone.  He fumbled around for his jacket, and pulled it out of the pocket.

"Hello," he mumbled.

"Nicholas, you need to get out of London."

Nicholas' head popped up, and he was immediately alert.

"What is it?"

"They're on to you.  They tracked down your cover identity—you weren't in your flat last night, thank God.  Where are you?"

"At the hotel.  Where are they?"

"I'm not sure.  Just get out of there!"

Nicholas hung up the phone, stumbles out of bed, and began frantically dressing.  He looked over at the bed, and saw that Monica was awake, and was looking at him nervously.

"Monica, I have to go," he said apologetically.

"Okay.  Uh, why?"

"I can't explain.  I'll be in contact as soon as I can, though, okay?"

Monica's expression melted from hurt, to angry, in an instant.

"What are you talking about?  Ross is getting married in _less than six hours_!"

"Monica—"

"If you are freaked out by what we did, then just say so."

"It's not you, Monica it—"

"Are you kidding?  You are not going to tell me this!  After everything that's happened I can't—"

"Monica, please, I really have to go!  I _will _call you!"

"No, you know what, if you can't be an adult about this, then just go!  I never want to see you again!" Monica jumped out of bed, pulling the bed sheet with her. 

"You don't mean that," Chandler said sadly.

Monica fumed.  How dare he be so full of himself!  She approached him, as he slid on his shoe and headed for the door.

"I meant it," she whispered, echoing his words from the previous night.  She slapped him across the face and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door.

What had he done?  He needed to fix this.  But he had no time—he had to go.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and headed out the door.

~****~

"Chandler!  Have you seen Joey and Phoebe?" Rachel caught up with Chandler in the lobby of the hotel.

"What?  Uh, no.  They probably went to get breakfast," Chandler tried to rush away from Rachel.

"I dunno, I think something's wrong," Rachel muttered, and Chandler stopped dead in his tracks.  He turned around slowly.

"What makes you say that?" he asked as calmly as possible.

Before Rachel could answer, Penelope came running into the lobby.

"What is _she_ doing here?" Rachel arched her eyebrow at Chandler.

Penelope approached, and looked nervously from Nicholas to Rachel.

"What's wrong?" Nicholas asked, his eyes telling Penelope that it was too late to make up a story.

"I need to talk to you alone for a minute," Penelope said softly.

*

Monica walked into the lobby, hoping to catch up to Chandler before he left the hotel.  She felt bad that she didn't really listen to him.  Maybe he was telling the truth.  She scanned the lobby, and spotted Rachel and Chandler and…_Janice_?  Head spinning, Monica approached the trio.

"Is _this _why you took off this morning, Chandler?" Monica hissed, shoving Chandler backwards.

"Monica, this is not what you think, okay?"

"Really?  What do I _think _this is?"

Nicholas looked at Penelope, and made a decision.  He had to deal with Nicholas' problems, before he could tackle Chandler's mounting problems.

"Tell me what's going on, Penny."

Rachel and Monica looked at each other, then back at Janice.

"Yuri has two of your friends," Penelope said slowly, "We have to go."

Nicholas swallowed hard, and looked at Rachel, who looked utterly confused.

"Rach, when was the last time you saw Joey and Phoebe?"

~****~

The room seemed to be spinning, and his head was throbbing.  Where was he?  Did he get drunk last night?  He groaned loudly, and struggled to sit up.  It was then that he realized that his hands were tied behind his back.  He blinked several times, trying to clear his vision.  And that's when he remembered.  He and Emily had been at the church, trying to keep their parents away from each other.  They had stepped out onto the sidewalk, to get away from the chaos that was slowly brewing inside the church, when a strange man approached them.

Then everything went black.

"Well, look who is awake," another man paced the floor in front of him.

"What do you want?" Ross asked.

"We want to know what your connection is with Nicholas," the man replied.

"I don't know anyone named Nicholas," Ross spat.

"We saw you with him!  Tell me what you know!"

Was he having a bad dream?  Ross shook his head.  He felt like he was in a really bad James Bond movie.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and another man appeared, holding Emily by her arms.  She cried out when she saw Ross.

"You son of a bitch!" Ross yelled, only to be met with a slap to the face.

"Tell us," the man whispered menacingly, while the other man pulled out a handgun, and put it to Emily's temple.


	6. Never Say Forever

**~One For the Road~**

Chapter Five: _Never Say Forever_

"Rach, when was the last time you saw Joey and Phoebe?"

Before Rachel could reply, Joey and Phoebe appeared in the lobby.

"Hey, there you guys are.  I thought we were going to breakfast?" Joey said as they approached the group.

"Janice?" Phoebe looked confused, and Joey instinctively backed away from Chandler's annoying ex.

"We don't have time to explain all of this," Chandler said quickly, "Where's Ross?"

~*~

"I don't know who Nicholas is!" Ross cried desperately.

"Ross, what's going on?" Emily cried.

"I wish I knew," Ross whispered.

"Bing…is that the name he is using?  Chandler Bing?" the tall man asked flatly.

A flash of recognition passed through Ross' eyes, and the man knew that he knew.

"You know Chandler, don't you?"

Ross nodded robotically, and the man pulled his gun from Emily's head, and threw her to the ground carelessly.  

"What do you want with Chandler?" Ross asked, once Emily was safely at his side.

"I want him dead," the tall man answered coldly.

~*~

"You guys need to stay in your rooms.  Do NOT answer the door for anyone but me and, uh, Janice."

Janice gave Chandler a look, and he shook his head.

"Where are you going?  Why is Janice here?  Where's Ross?" the questions came fast and furious, but Chandler simply shook his head, and ushered his friends toward the elevator.

"I'll explain later.  Right now, I need to find Ross," Chandler hit the 'up' button on the elevator, and scanned the lobby suspiciously.

The others stood looking at Chandler, still confused by his odd behavior.  But they all trusted him, because at the moment, they had no reason not to.

*

After securing Joey, Phoebe, Rachel and Monica in Monica's hotel room, Chandler and Janice made their way down to Janice's waiting car.  Chandler pulled his bag out of the backseat, and changed his clothes as Janice made her way toward the church.

"If they aren't at the church, we have to assume Yuri has them," Nicholas said, as he checked, then re-checked his weapons.

"I agree.  The network is trying to locate his exact whereabouts now, and they'll call when they have something.  But Nicky—if they have your friends, then they are on to you.  Your friends will always be in danger, as long as Yuri is alive."

"Then we will have to assure that Yuri doesn't make it out of London alive," Nicholas said flatly, and slid his clip into his handgun, before holstering it underneath his black jacket.

They pulled up to the church, and scrambled out of the car.  Nicholas made his way around the back of the church, while Penelope walked through the front door.  Scanning the perimeter, Nicholas relaxed slightly, when he saw nothing amiss.  He made his way toward the front, and saw Penelope shaking her head.

"What?" Nicholas asked.

"They aren't there.  No one knows where they went."

Nicholas shook his head in frustration.  Things were going from bad to worse, and as Penelope's phone rang, Nicholas wondered just how much more this situation could spiral out of control.

"Hello?" Penelope kept eye contact with Nicholas as she answered the phone.  She listened for a minute, and then hung up the phone quietly.

"Did they find him?"

"Yes.  He's at the hotel." Penelope said quietly.

"Shit," Nicholas closed his eyes, and swallowed back the bile that came up in his throat.  He and Penelope raced toward the car, and sped toward the hotel.

They could not get there fast enough.  Nicholas took several deep breaths, in a vain attempt to calm his jagged nerves.  Penelope came to a screeching halt in front of the hotel, and the pair ran into the hotel at full speed.  They rushed toward Monica's hotel room, and only slowed when they reached the room itself.  Nicholas pulled out his handgun, and reached out to knock on the hotel room door.  To his dismay, the door swung open easily as he knocked.

Nicholas and Penelope stormed into the room, and scanned it with their eyes and guns.  Nicholas fought to control his emotions, as he noted darkly that there were clear signs of a struggle in the room.  He tried to keep the mental image of Monica in danger out of his head.

He was failing miserably.

"Nick," Penelope said sharply, pulling Nicholas back to reality.

"What?"

"Basement."

Nicholas nodded, and he and Penelope made their way to the service elevators.  The stepped in, and both took deep breaths as the doors slid closed.

"What's the plan?" Penelope asked.

"To stay alive," Nicholas smiled, and pulled out his handgun.

As the door to the service elevator opened, Nicholas found himself face to face with one of Yuri's guards.

~***~

"Ross!" Monica cried happily, as several large men ushered the rest of the group into the small supply room.

Ross looked at his friends sadly, and simply nodded at the group.  They were each forced down and tied to plain aluminum chairs that sat next to Ross and Emily.

Once the men left the room, Ross looked over at Monica.

"We have to get outta here.  That guy is trying to kill Chandler!"

"What?" 

"Yeah.  Apparently, we're bait," Ross added sourly.

The entire group began struggling with their expertly tied ropes, hoping that at least one of them could get to Chandler before it was too late.

"Ross, you will not believe who is here with Chandler—" Rachel whispered.

"Who?"

"Janice!"

"Janice?" Ross looked at Rachel strangely.

"Ross!" Emily growled, and Rachel rolled her eyes.  She couldn't believe that Emily was playing the jealous fiancé at a time like this!

"Got it!" Joey said triumphantly, and pulled his hands free.  He quickly went to work untying the others, and just as he had Monica freed, the door swung open.

"Well, well, aren't we crafty?" the man glared at Joey menacingly.

~***~

The guard seemed just as shocked as Nicholas, and Nicholas took the opportunity to grab the guard's weapon from him, and toss it aside.  The guard recovered quickly, and pushed him toward the wall. The force of him hitting the wall jarred Nicholas' gun from his hand, and sent it sliding across the cement floor.

"Penny," Nicholas yelled, "Go—find them!"

Penelope nodded, and ran deeper into the basement.

The guard kneed Nicholas in the stomach, and Nicholas reciprocated my head butting him.  The guard staggered backward, and Nicholas spun off of the wall and kicked him in the head.  He grabbed his stomach, struggling to recover, as the guard came toward him once more.  Nicholas kicked the man in the gut, then placed his hands on both sides of his head.  He jerked the head swiftly to the left, and heard a large crack.  The guard fell to the ground with a deadly thump.  Nicholas recovered his gun, and proceeded down the hallway, listening for any signs of struggle.  Another man came from around the corner, his left arm wrapped around Penelope.  In his right hand, he held a gun.  

"Drop it," the guard growled.  He pointed the gun at Penelope's head, and Nicholas dropped his gun, and put his hands in the air.

~***~

"I don't think you realize the situation that you are in," the tall man sighed, as his accomplice pushed Joey back onto his chair.  "I'm afraid, I will need to teach you a lesson."  The man scanned the room slowly, and then nodded toward Emily, and another man pulled Emily to the middle of the room.

"You bastard!" Rachel screamed before she could control it.

The man simply smirked, and nodded toward Rachel.  He looked at Ross, and noted the look of horror that had crossed his face.  The guard pulled Rachel into the middle of the room, and the two women sat back to back.

"Now," the tall man said, looking directly at Ross, "Pick one."

AN: Okay, this'll do for now.  The next chapter will have some more action, and then it'll get all angsty—yeah, I know, but let's face it: I suck at writing action! LOL.


	7. The Death of Chandler Bing

One For The Road 

Chapter Six: _The Death of Chandler Bing_

"I don't think you realize the situation that you are in," the tall man sighed, as his accomplice pushed Joey back onto his chair. "I'm afraid, I will need to teach you a lesson." The man scanned the room slowly, and then nodded toward Emily, and another man pulled Emily to the middle of the room.

"You bastard!" Rachel screamed before she could control it.

The man simply smirked, and nodded toward Rachel. He looked at Ross, and noted the look of horror that had crossed his face. The guard pulled Rachel into the middle of the room, and the two women sat back to back.

"Now," the tall man said, looking directly at Ross, "Pick one."

Ross looked absolutely horrified.  He stuttered something indecipherable, and kept shifting his eyes from Emily to Rachel and back.

"Ross!" Emily cried, exasperated.  It was as though she was shocked that Ross was having a hard time making the choice.  Ross shot her a helpless look, then he looked at Joey and Monica, both of whom looked as lost and panicked as he did.

Suddenly, the door to the small room swung open, and two large men pushed Chandler and Janice into the room roughly.  Ross breathed a small sigh of relief, believing that he would no longer have to choose who would be shot.  His panic returned when he realized that, in all likelihood, Chandler was now the one who would be shot.

"Nicholas, how nice of you to join us," the tall man looked down at Chandler, who had been pushed to the floor.

"Let them go, Yuri, this has nothing to do with them," Nicholas spat.

"Oh, right.  These are Chandler Bing's friends, aren't they?"

Nicholas said nothing; he simply set his jaw, and glared angrily at Yuri.

"Wilson, you and Lawrence watch the elevators.  I'll take care of this," Yuri smiled at Nicholas.

Two of the guards left the room, leaving two other guards and Yuri to 'take care' of Nicholas and the others. 

"Let them go," Nicholas repeated softly but firmly.

"You are really in no position to give orders," Yuri spat.

Nicholas and Penelope exchanged glances, both knowing that there would be no way to protect the others from what they had to do.

"Now," Yuri clapped his hands once to emphasize his point, "Your friend was about to help me decide who I should punish for their _very foolish _escape attempt."

Ross tensed.  He was sure that Yuri had forgotten about them when Chandler came in.  He looked at Chandler, who was looking at Janice.  

Yuri put his gun to Rachel's head.  Rachel squeezed her eyes shut, and froze.  Everyone except Chandler and Janice gasped, and Ross cried out.

Yuri smiled, and pulled the gun from Rachel's head.

"You've made your choice," Yuri smiled, and nodded toward the guard.  The man moved forward, and untied Emily.  Rachel shot Monica a panicked look.  Yuri yanked Emily from her chair, and pushed her to the ground next to Chandler.  He pointed the gun at her head, and Ross once again cried out.  

Nicholas nodded to Penelope: it was now or never.

Yuri pressed the gun into the back of Emily's skull, and let out a small laugh.  Then, on cue from Nicholas, Penelope let out one of Janice's signature whines, startling Yuri only slightly.  Nicholas used that opportunity to tackle Yuri to the ground.

Yuri's guards pointed their guns, but Nicholas and Yuri were rolling around on the floor, both struggling for the weapon, and the guards could not get a clean shot.  They were too distracted to notice Penelope, who whacked one on the head with her shoe, then used the first guard's gun to corner the second guard.

"Drop it or I shoot," Penelope yelled.

Nicholas and Yuri rolled their way into a corner, and Nicholas managed to knee Yuri in the groin, before grabbing his gun, and scrambling off of Yuri.  He scanned the room, and saw that it was now secure.  He took a deep breath, and struggled to center himself.  Yuri groaned, and rolled forward, breaking up Nicholas' thoughts.

"On your knees," Nicholas said flatly, as he dragged Yuri into the center of the room.

"Chandler, maybe we should call the police," Rachel suggested nervously.

"We can't do that," Nicholas replied softly, as Penelope forced the guards next to Yuri.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and the two remaining guards walked in.  Upon seeing the situation, they raised their guns, fully intending to kill Penelope and Nicholas.

Two shots rang out, and the two guards fell to the ground, both with bullets in their heads.

Nicholas and Penelope lowered their guns slowly.  Nicholas nodded toward Penelope, and she pulled out a small phone, and walked out of the room.

The small group stared at the guards that lay bleeding on the floor.  Monica looked at Chandler, and noted that he did not seem quite as flustered as the rest of them.  Fighting to control her body's trembling, she cleared her throat softly.

"Chandler, what's going on?"

Chandler looked up at Monica, and smiled softly.  He looked at the ground, and bit his lip, before speaking.

"I'll explain later," he said softly.

"Why not tell them, now?" Yuri spoke up, his voice tinged with a slight panic.

"Shut up, Yuri," Nicholas seethed.

"I'm sure they would like to know why you did not blink, when you pulled that trigger just now," Yuri continued, seemingly unfazed, "Or why you killed the real Chandler Bing," Yuri smiled slyly.

Ross, Joey, Phoebe, Rachel, Emily and Monica all looked at Chandler, all wondering if what this stranger was saying could possibly be true.  It was at this moment that Penelope re-entered the room.

"Nick, they are on the way.  We need to finish this."

"We have to get them out of here," Nicholas nodded toward his friends.

"There's no time!  We have to go," Penelope argued, but began untying Ross anyway.

Nicholas sighed, and backed up slightly.  He knew he had to get rid of these men, but he didn't want to kill them in front of his friends.  But Penelope was right: they had to go.

Suddenly, one of the remaining guards lunged toward Phoebe, who screamed and nearly fell backward on her chair.  Without a word, Nicholas shot the man in the back of the head, narrowly missing Phoebe.  

Phoebe cried out, as the man fell dead at her side.  Her blood-spattered face paled considerably, as she watched Chandler shoot the other guard in the back of the head.

"You are a coward, and a murderer!" Yuri screamed, as Nicholas walked around Yuri, stopping in front of the kneeling man.

"You are the genocidal maniac, not me," Nicholas stated calmly.

"You know nothing," Yuri said, his voice now filled with exhaustion, "You killed my only daughter, my only pride," Yuri was now sobbing.

"Your daughter was not meant to be killed," Nicholas' voice was raspy, and equally soft, "I was assigned to kill you."

"You failed, and you will suffer for that, always," Yuri's voice was now filled with anger.

"Perhaps," Nicholas said, and took a step backwards, "but I will not fail again." Nicholas pointed his gun at Yuri's head, and pulled the trigger.

"How are they?" Nicholas stood up and approached his doctor, as she walked into the room.

"They are all suffering from shock, but otherwise, they are unharmed," the doctor replied flatly, "And they want to know where they are."

Nicholas nodded silently, and pushed his hands into his black trousers.

"I suppose I should talk to them," he said, more to himself than to the doctor.

"I think it's imperative that you do," she replied, and left the room.

Nicholas sighed, and pushed open the door to the adjacent room.  He walked into the large room, and looked at his friends, who were all staring at him with a strange mixture of awe, anger and fear.  He silently crossed the room, and pulled open the large, heavy drapes that covered the picture windows at the north end of the room.  The room was now flooded with natural light.  

Nicholas stood at the window for a moment, staring out at the sprawling garden that the window overlooked.  He took a deep breath, and turned to his friends.

"I owe you an explanation, I know," he sighed deeply, and leaned on a stool that sat near the window.  The backlight made it almost impossible for the others to see his face.  

"Who were those men?  Why did they want to kill you?  Why did you kill them?" They were all valid questions, but the answers to them would certainly drive his friends away.  Nicholas took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

"My name is not Chandler Bing.  It's Nicholas Caulfield.  The woman you know as Janice is my assistant, Penelope Graves.  I work for a small, underground network that takes care of problems that governments cannot, or will not get involved with.  I'm a hit man."  He watched his friend's reactions, but found he could not read any of them, so he continued.

"Yuri was an insurgent leader who was trying to overthrow a small Eastern European government.  I was assigned to kill him, but I accidentally killed his daughter.  He went insane, and used all of his resources and connections to track me down.  I'm sorry that you were thrown into the middle of this—I never wanted this to happen.  As soon as I found out, I relocated to London."

"What about what Yuri said, about you killing Chandler?" Ross asked softly.

Nicholas swallowed hard, and looked at his feet.

"You never really knew the real Chandler Bing," Nicholas said softly, "Ross, you went to college with him, but the rest of you never really knew him.  He was an evil, conniving, underhanded, awful person.  He was working with an underground anarchist organization in upstate New York.  When a plot to assassinate the president failed, I was sent in to take care of it.  It was my first assignment with the network.  I had just recently joined and needed an alternate identity.  The network altered my face, erased all of the real Chandler's history, and gave me his life—or at least the life he told his parents about.  It was never my intention to hurt any of you.  The person you know as Chandler—I AM that person.  I care about all of you, and I know that you are confused, but I swear—I never wanted to hurt any of you," Nicholas looked at Monica intently, but she refused to meet his eyes.

"Chandler—Nicholas—whatever your name is," Phoebe said softly, "I think I can speak for the rest of the group when I say that we never want to see you again."

Nicholas dropped his head, and closed his eyes.  When no one countered Phoebe's statement, he knew that he had lost them all.

"For what it's worth," Nicholas said after a long silence," I am sorry."

"Just leave us alone," Ross said flatly.

Nicholas nodded, and left the room without another word.

Once he was in the next room, Nicholas sank onto the floor, and closed his eyes.  In just 24 hours, he had lost everything he cared about.  He felt the dark hands of grief reach through him, and consume him, squeezing the life out of his broken heart.

He would rather be dead.

**AN: **_Sorry for the loooong delay—I was on vacation (Vegas, baybee!).  But I am back now, and rushing to catch up here.  The fic will now get a bit more angsty, as Nicholas struggles to win his friends back.  Let me know what you think, and I'll try to get this one done.  Okay, I'm tired—nap time, lol._

_©2002 SFGrl_


	8. Shattered Illusions

AN: The fic gets all angsty from here.  Last warning! 

One For The Road 

Chapter Seven: _Shattered Illusions_

**T**he wind howled through the trees, producing the only sounds around the small, nondescript cottage.  Inside the dark stone building, were remnants of some sort of life.  A tiny stove, a stained, worn reading chair, a soot-filled fireplace, and a small wooden table and two matching chairs.  The wooden floors creaked when walked upon, as did the wooden ladder that led to the loft.

The loft was dark and damp, and only a thin mattress and an old armoire occupied the loft's limited space.

For many, the cottage was not livable; but for the broken hearted, there was nowhere else to be.

To the people in the small Scottish village, the man who lived in the cottage was an enigma; He'd wandered into town two months ago, and offered an exorbitant amount of money for the run down cottage that sat on the outskirts of town.  Since that day, he rarely, if ever left his cottage, choosing instead to live the life of a hermit—angry at the world, angry with himself, perhaps.  He had little interaction with the townspeople, and when he did, the encounter was brief, and dismal.  

It wasn't that he was overly rude, or demanding.  In fact, he was just the opposite.  Mirium, the elderly woman who ran the town market, encountered the man more than most.  She often remarked that the man was quiet, very polite, but very sad.  He would smile courteously, but his eyes showed a darkness that was unnatural.  He'd once told her his name was Nicholas, but she often wondered if that was true.  He had stuttered the name, and was obviously not comfortable with it.  But, not wanting to startle the boy, she simply smiled, and told him it was a nice name.  He was silent for a moment, seeming to ponder the statement.  In the end, he had simply smiled once more, and walked away.

He was a good-looking young man.  Well built, in good shape, with a sharp, chiseled face and striking features.  But it was his eyes, noted Mirium, time and time again, that struck her most.  They were a dazzling sapphire blue, and seemed to have the power to take hold of a person's soul.  She often wondered, what those eyes were like, when they sparkled.

For they must have sparkled at some point—a person must feel an ultimate elation before they can experience such a grave loss.

He had lost something—or someone.  That much was clear.

~***~

They were never quite the same after London.

No one was willing to talk about it—or him.  They all went on with their respective lives, as though nothing had ever happened.

But something had happened.

There was a hole—a large gaping hole—in the middle of the group.  They could all feel it, even if all five refused to acknowledge it.  

None of them wanted to hear his explanations that day.  All they wanted was to get back to New York, and forget that any of this had happened.

But it was living with them—eating away at them—a dark shadow that refused to leave their sides.

Two months after their return to New York, it all finally came to a head.

Ross and Emily were in the midst of a thorny divorce; Ross had been cheating on Emily with Rachel since their return.  Joey had slowly disconnected himself with the group, and was now almost completely departed from the core five.  Monica had become almost completely introverted, and Phoebe had become acerbic to the point of cruelty.

The turning point came on Thanksgiving.  The group had reluctantly gathered for the holiday, more out of habit and obligation than anything else.

It wasn't one big thing that started it: it was a dozen little things, like scorched yams, a debate between a parade and a football game, and a cranberry stain on the rug.  In the end, none of the little things mattered.  The yelling started during the meal, and ended with the slamming of doors and more than one set of shed tears.

A week later, no one had spoken to anyone else.  Feelings had been hurt, and egos stepped on.  When Monica finally ventured outside, she pointedly avoided Central Perk.  Little did she know, so did everyone else.  

The letter came, one week and one day after the Thanksgiving fiasco.

Monica recognized the handwriting immediately.  And had she been in any other state—had she been on speaking terms with her brother or her best friends—she would have tossed the letter in the trash.  But she was fighting both a broken heart, and a horrible loneliness—she longed for something familiar—even if it came from the one person she wanted to despise.

_Dearest Monica,_

_I'm not sure that you will ever read this—in fact, I'm almost sure that you won't.  But the words need to be written, and the feelings need to be expressed, whether or not you wish to hear them._

_I know that what happened to you, and the others, must have been shocking.  More shocking, was the news that I am not the person you thought I was.  For this, I cannot apologize enough.  I hurt you, I know this, but you must know that that was never my intention.  Of course, I never intended for you to find out the way you did, either._

_Please, please believe me when I tell you that you DO know me.  You know me better than my parents, better than Penelope, and better than I know myself.  I am the person that you know as Chandler—it's just a name, Monica—and my job—was just a job.  It was a job I had been struggling to break free of, once I began to realize how much I had to lose.  Once I realized that I was in love with you._

_It wasn't a fear of commitment that drove me from Kathy—it was a fear for her life.  When she got too close, it was easier to let her go.  Then I fell for you—when exactly, I am not sure.  But if you have any doubts that the night we shared in London was any less than extraordinary for me, then allow me to quell them by saying to you that I was willing to do anything—**anything**, to hold on to you.  And making that commitment meant changing myself—changing my job, and my life—so that you would never be in harm's way._

_I am no longer in the work that I was once in—and I know that that may bring you little comfort now.  I have become, in all honesty, a shell of the person I once was—because I have lost the only people that ever mattered to me.  The hate and anger you feel is understandable—but I hope, that somewhere, deep down in your heart, you can also forgive me, for sins that I've lived with for a very long time._

_If you do care to reach me, Penelope—Janice, knows where to find me.  If you don't, I understand.  And should I not hear from you, trust that this will be the last you hear from me._

_All my Love,_

_Nicholas_

Monica was not aware of the tears that drenched her cheeks until she put the letter on the table.  He had been brutally honest—even after all that had happened, she believed what he said.  Her heart had lurched when he confessed his love for her, but she allowed her logical mind to dampen any irrational romantic notions.  He was not the person he said he was, and that knowledge kept nagging at her, as she paced her apartment, her mind wandering back to moments in time—moments that now fit too well into the lies he had so masterfully weaved:  The difficulty he had always had defining his 'job'; The odd decision to 'move' to Yemen to escape the clutches of 'Janice'; The occasional injuries that he always had an odd excuse for—had that woman _really_ stapled his hand?; His inability to remember Rachel when she first ran into Central Perk—wet and in a wedding gown—a few years earlier, and for that matter, his inability to remember much from the two Thanksgivings Chandler spent at the Geller's during college.  All of it now made sense—and thinking about it made her nauseous.

But she read the letter again—and again and again.  She read it a dozen times, perhaps, and still could not shake off the feeling that she should not give up on him so hastily.  She needed advice.  She needed a friend.

As if fate had read her mind, Rachel came traipsing into the apartment a moment later, apparently to gather more clothes to take back to Ross'.  She did not bother to acknowledge her friend and roommate—and did not wish to linger on the thought that she still could not bring herself to tag either label with a 'former'.

"Rachel?" Monica's voice was so quiet, that Rachel thought she was imagining it.

"Did you say something?" Rachel's voice remained cold, but there was a weariness in her eyes that betrayed her façade of determination.

"Yes.  I—I need help," Monica looked at her shoes as she spoke, and held her breath as she waited for Rachel's reply.

"Why?" Rachel's voice was tinged with misgiving.

"I'm…lost," Monica sighed after a moment of thought, and raised her head, but still avoided her gaze.

Rachel noted the hollowness in Monica's voice, then watched unchecked tears make their way down her face.  Any resolve Rachel had quickly melted, and she rushed toward her friend, catching her just as she collapsed into a fit of heartbreaking sobs.

"It's okay, sweetie, everything will be okay," Rachel held Monica tightly, and rubbed her back reassuringly, "we'll call the others, and we can work on this."

"It's not that," Monica finally whispered, as her tremors subsided, "It's not just that," she said again.

"What is it?" Rachel led Monica to the sofa, and sat down next to her, grasping her hand tightly.

"It's Chandler."

Rachel's eyes darkened, and she stiffened slightly.

"He—he wrote me a letter.  He said—he said he's in love with me."

"That bastard," Rachel seethed, though her voice was very quiet, "he's just trying to get you to forgive him!"

"No, Rachel, I don't think it is," Monica argued, though Rachel hardly heard her.

"I mean, why would he just tell you something like that, out of the blue?"

"Rach—it wasn't out of the blue," Monica whispered.

"What?" Rachel felt all the blood drain from her face.

"It wasn't—really out of the blue.  He said something about it—before."

"Before?  When?" Rachel's gossip instincts kicked in, and she looked at Monica intently.

"In London.  We were…talking, and he said…" Monica looked at her hands, and sighed deeply.

"What?" Rachel looked as though she were about to explode.

"He said…I was his dream girl," Monica's voice was almost whimsical, as she let herself drift back to the night she'd shared with Chandler in London.

"What did you say?" Rachel did not let Monica linger long.

"I—kissed him," Monica's face reddened, and she smiled.

"You **what**??" Rachel's jaw dropped.

"It was amazing. He was amazing," Monica said dreamily.

"Oh my God, did you have sex with him?" Rachel asked incredulously.

"Seven times," Monica grinned triumphantly.

"_Really_?" Rachel had a hard time keeping her jaw off the floor.

Monica nodded, and Rachel sat back heavily on the sofa.

"Do you love him?" Rachel's face, and voice sobered quickly.

"I don't know," Monica croaked, as another set of tears threatened.

"Can I see the letter?" Rachel asked quietly.

Monica nodded, and walked to the desk to retrieve the letter.

"I don't know what to do," Monica said, as she handed Rachel the letter.

The room was quiet for several minutes, as Rachel read, and re-read the letter.  Monica hugged herself, as she stared out into the black New York night.  Why did everything have to be so complicated?  He loved her, wasn't that enough?  Would she ever be able to trust him?  The sound of Rachel sniffling pulled her from her thoughts.

"Monica, you should talk to him.  I—I don't know what else to tell you, but I think it's the right thing to do."

It was all Monica needed.  She nodded at her friend, and walked into the kitchen to retrieve her address book.

She only hoped Janice hadn't changed her number.

~***~

It was cold, and dark, but even the dreariness in the skies above Scotland could not match the shadows that plagued his heart.

Chandler sat in the large reading chair, his knees pulled up to his chest, and his chin resting on his knees.  As much as he wanted to believe that the letter he sent Monica would make a difference, he knew that what he had done was beyond redemption.  The hatred he'd read in his friend's eyes told him everything he needed to know.

As if that weren't enough, his nightmares had worsened.  He had assured himself—perhaps foolishly—that the nightmares would cease if and when he killed Yuri.  But he was wrong—more than wrong.  He could barely close his eyes, without seeing Anna's bloody body—and the scornful looks of Monica and the others.  He was a tainted soul—unworthy of love and happiness.

A window-quivering gust of wind shook him from his self-misery for a moment.  But as he closed his eyes, he cursed the silence, and the storm.

He would give all he had, to be the Chandler Bing that they all once believed him to be.

~***~

He was more than angry—he was livid.  The mission had failed, and the object of their deep-seeded abhorrence had disappeared.  Deep brown eyes narrowed, as the slender man paced up and down the small corridor, refusing to look at the small man who had delivered the news.  If it took him a lifetime—he would avenge the death of his family—his only family.  For no man, no matter how righteous he believes himself to be, is above paying for his sins.

Nicholas Caulfield would suffer.  Of that, there was no doubt.

_~*~_

_Say good-bye to not knowing when_

_The truth in my whole life began_

_Say good-bye to not knowing how to cry_

_You taught me that_

_And I'll remember the strength that you gave me_

_Now that I'm standing on my own_

_I'll remember the way that you saved me_

_I'll remember_

_Inside I was a child_

_That could not mend a broken wing_

_Outside I looked for a way_

_To teach my heart to sing_

_And I'll remember the love that you gave me_

_Now that I'm standing on my own_

_I'll remember the way that you changed me_

_I'll remember_

_I learned to let go of the illusion that we can possess_

_I learned to let go, I travel in stillness_

_And I'll remember happiness_

_I'll remember [I'll remember]_

_ And I'll remember the love that you gave me_

_Now that I'm standing on my own_

I'll remember the way that you changed me 

_I'll remember [I'll remember]_

No I've never been afraid to cry 

_Now I finally have a reason why_

_I'll remember [I'll remember]_

**_I'll Remember_**** (Theme from '_With Honors'_)**

Words and Music by Madonna, Patrick Leonard & Richard Page


	9. For Reasons Unknown

One For the Road 

Chapter Eight: _For Reasons Unknown_

"She what?  Is she crazy?  Did she conveniently forget that that…bastard…is a murderer?"  Ross was fuming, as he stalked around his apartment, arms flailing maniacally.  Rachel stood in the center of the storm, and waited for Ross to stop ranting before she continued.

"Ross, she is going to be fine.  She needs this.  And she needs to do it alone."

"He'll only hurt her," Ross sighed.

"You don't know that," Rachel shook her head, her eyes filling with tears.

"I do.  I saw the look on his face when he shot that man in the head," Ross reasoned.

"And I saw the look on his face when we turned our backs on him.  He loves her."

"Yeah, right," Ross laughed.

"I read the letter, Ross.  I talked to Monica.  He loves her.  He loves her the way you love me.  The way I love you," Rachel whispered the last sentence, and closed the gap between her and Ross.

"No," Ross shook his head, refusing to let the truth be absorbed.

"Sweetie, let her do this.  She may find herself out there.  She may find what she needs.  Even if all she finds is closure, at least she gave him the benefit of the doubt."

Ross' shoulders dropped, and he closed his eyes.

"If he hurts her…"

"Then he'll have to face all of us," Rachel smiled.

~**~

The rocking motion of the small, dilapidated bus was slowly lulling its passengers to sleep, as it rumbled down the rocky dirt road.  Monica stared out at the Scottish countryside, her stomach in knots, and her head throbbing.  She was not prepared for all that she had to go through to get to this place.  Penelope had insisted that, as a precaution, Monica travel under a pseudonym, and avoid all major public places.  Monica was beginning to see how stressful the double-life could be, from sweating her way through customs, to constantly looking over her shoulder.  The bus pulled to an abrupt stop, yanking Monica from her reverie.  She quickly grabbed her bag, and made her way off of the bus.

The village was small, and charming.  Cobblestone roads and ancient stone buildings were framed by rolling green hills, and a deep, darkening blue-gray sky.  The picturesque scene was like a warm welcome from an old friend.  Monica made her way to a corner shop, where an elderly woman was arranging fruit.

"Excuse me," Monica said softly, and smiled as the woman turned.

"Well, hello sweetie.  What can I do for you now?" the woman's gray-green eyes danced with mirth as she spoke, with a lilting, sweet accent.

"I'm looking for someone…Nicholas Caulfield…do you know where I can find him?"

The woman's eyes flashed with recognition, and her smile broadened.

"So, you must be the one he lost, then," the woman nodded.

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, he doesn't talk much, that one, but he has a sadness about him.  We have all wondered what—or who—made him so sad.  You are a very beautiful girl, miss, and certainly capable of breaking the odd heart, I think," the woman chuckled, and grinned mischievously.

"I um—" Monica flushed, and fidgeted with her hands.

"Oh, 'tis alright dear.  He lives just down the road there, in the small gray and green cottage," the woman pointed a crooked finger northward, and Monica followed it with her eyes.

"Thank you," Monica smiled, and turned to leave.

"You tell him Mirium says hello," the woman nodded, and walked back into her shop.

Monica nodded, and turned toward the road.  She took a deep breath, and made her way toward Chandler's cottage.

She stood in front of the green wooden door for an unspecified amount of time, shifting her weight from foot to foot, trying to think of what she wanted to say to Chandler, and wondering what she wanted to hear.  Finally, she realized that she could not completely control the outcome of the conversation that would take place inside this cottage, any more than she could control the outcome.  Shaking her head, she knocked softly on the door.  When there was no answer, she knocked again, louder.  Again, there was no answer, so Monica peered around her, and when she saw that there was no one around, she tried the door.  To her surprise, it was unlocked, and she quickly slipped inside.  Closing the door behind her, she saw a small, cozy room, with a worn chair and a waning fire.  She wondered where Chandler could be…it seemed clear that he wasn't home, but that he had been not long ago.  She wondered if he'd seen her at the front door, and snuck away.  She quickly shrugged off the thought, and wandered into the area of the cabin that apparently passed for a kitchen: a rickety table, a rusted sink, and a hotplate that looked like it was rarely used.  She made a mental note to pay Mirium another visit soon.

The sound of the door creaking open broke her thoughts, and she swung around to see Chandler walking into the cabin, with an armload of firewood.  He kicked the door shut, and carried the wood toward the fireplace.  A slight movement in the kitchen caught his eye, and he looked up suddenly.

"M—Monica?" Chandler prayed he wasn't dreaming again.  Then he reminded himself that he didn't have pleasant dreams any more.

"Hello Chand—uh, Nicholas," Monica stuttered nervously, as she approached him.

"You can, um, you can call me Chandler, if you, uh, if you want to," Chandler said softly, as he placed the wood on the ground next to the fireplace, and dusted the dirt from his hands onto his pants.  

"Um, sit down, please," Chandler smiled tightly, and pulled a thin blanket from the only chair in the living room area.  Monica smiled and sat down slowly.  Chandler looked at her for a long minute, before suddenly turning and adding wood to the dying embers in his fireplace.

"How did you—I mean, why—" Chandler stumbled over his questions, as he poked at the fire, coaxing it back to life, with a stick.

"I got your letter, and I—I wanted to see you," Monica said softly, as she fingered the thin, holey blanket that was sat in her lap.

"You—you got it?  I thought maybe you just tossed it," Chandler laughed uncomfortably, and turned to look at Monica.  His eyes fell to the ground, and he sat down on the floor in front of her.

"I almost did—but—things have been…strange since we came back from London."

"What do you mean?" Chandler felt himself relax a little, as Monica sighed.

"We've all been…on edge.  And this past Thanksgiving, it all kind of came to a head.  We were all yelling at each other, and for no good reason, really.  Anyway, no one was talking to anybody, and then I got your letter.  And I—I don't know, I felt like we at least owed you an opportunity to explain.  And I—I wanted to know if what you said was true."

"About me falling in love with you?" Chandler asked softly.

Monica nodded silently, and looked down at Chandler.

Chandler was quiet for a moment, then sighed softly.  He stared sadly at the fire, and Monica watched as the orange-yellow flames danced in his deep blue eyes. He didn't look at her when he finally spoke.

"In the profession I was formerly in, falling in love was the single-worst thing you could do.  It made you vulnerable, and it put an innocent life at risk.  God, Monica I tried really hard not to fall for you.  But you are so damn love-able," Chandler chuckled, and looked up at Monica.  She saw the tears that lined his eyes, and she fought to urge to wrap her arms around him, and tell him she loved him.  Her hesitation disturbed her, but she knew that she couldn't fully trust him, or herself, until she knew the entire story.

"I knew the second that I fell for you I needed to get over it, or face the consequences.  And then…London happened.  And in that one moment, I knew that there was no choice anymore.  I wanted out of the Network, and I wanted to be normal…have a normal job…and a normal life…with you."

"But were you going to tell me?  I mean, if all that stuff hadn't happened in London, would you have hidden it from me?" Monica's voice was filled with tension and exhaustion.

"I'd love to be able to tell you that, without a doubt, I would have told you.  But the truth is, I don't know.  I'd do anything to hold onto you, even if that meant keeping all of this from you."

"But—"

"I know, Monica—I know that all healthy relationships are built on trust—I saw that episode of _Oprah_," Chandler laughed, "But I also knew how you would all react to this."

"You mean we'd react exactly like we did."

"Pretty much, yes."

"I—I want to trust you Chandler, but—what happened, exactly?  Why were you doing this?"

"Monica, I need you to understand something—what I'm about to tell you, could get me killed.  I want you to know—I need you to, but understand that I can't tell you absolutely everything, okay?  I trust you, and I love you, and I'll tell you what I can—but it's…complicated," Chandler sighed, and watched, as Monica nodded.  He took a deep breath, and looked back up at her.  

"My father worked for the government—it was a branch of the CIA that the public never knew about.  He and his colleagues were sent to various locales around the world, and 'took care' of things, in the name of justice and freedom.  He assassinated dictators, he helped stage coups, he organized riots and protests—all these things were supposedly in the best interest of the American People.

But he became disillusioned by all of it—he began seeing the politics that were bleeding into decisions that affected thousands of lives.  He and a few others began realizing that they were doing more harm than good, and that the administration at that time was corrupt.  These men left the agency, and created The Network.  I was five years old when it was created, and I was raised in and around it.  My mother worked for it as well.  There was no question that I would be part of a new generation that would help rid the world of the men whose goal in life was to destroy everything.

When I was fourteen, my mother was killed—a revenge killing, for something my father had done.  The assassins targeted me as well, but for reasons even I don't know, I survived.  My father, who could not take the guilt that consumed him following my mother's assassination, killed himself.  People within The Network, who thought that putting me into the Foster Care system would expose them—these are extremely paranoid people, took me in.  I was trained by them, and showed remarkable natural skill, which excited the Network, and scared me, a little.  As soon as I was old enough, I was put out on my first assignment—killing Chandler Bing.  I took on my new alias, and I settled into Chandler's life. Everything spiraled from there," Chandler sighed, and stared at the floor.

Monica slid down onto the floor, and took Chandler's hand in hers.

"Thank you," she whispered, "for sharing this with me.  It means a lot to me."

"You don't hate me?" Chandler whispered.

"No," Monica said, and gave his hand a squeeze, "but I think I need some time…you know, to digest all of this.  You are certainly not the man I fell in love with," Monica laughed, but stopped when Chandler gave her a pained look.

"Do you think—do you think you'll be able to love the man you know now?" he asked softly, his voice filled with trepidation and hope.

"I think—I think I need to get to know that man a little better first," Monica smiled, "But things look good so far."

~New York City~

"This was his last known address, before he moved to London," the tall man whispered, as his partner rifled through the drawers and cabinets of the apartment.

"I doubt we'll find much here," the other man sighed, and pulled open a desk drawer.  A small photo caught his eye, and he pulled it out, his eyes lighting up as he studied it.

"Well, perhaps this lovely creature can tell us something," the man smiled, his thumb running over the dark-haired woman that sat on Nicholas' lap in the photo.

"Someone's coming," the tall man said, and both men retreated into a vacant bedroom as the apartment door swung open.

~Scotland~

A thick, dark gray fog settled over the Scottish village, and enveloped the tiny cottage that sat on the village outskirts.  Inside, the cottage was filled with a warm, buttery glow, and two people sat in an old, overstuffed chair, wrapped in a thin blanket, talking into the night, learning more about each other, and dreaming of a future without assassins and danger…

TBC


End file.
